Of Light and Shadows
by Nightlain
Summary: Among the Blood Elves led by Kael'thas to Outland, the Paladin Emalia finds herself in the Betrayer's army, amid a web of lies and secrecy where all is not what it seems. More notable is Illidan's sudden interest in her, which will set forth a string of events that will not only affect the rest of her life to come, but also the fate of Azeroth as well. She is not prepared.
1. Prologue

They had once been a great people, but the glory of their youth had long since been extinguished in the ruins of war. They were High Elves no more, that title was stolen from them when the blood of their people flowed through the streets of Quel'thalas. As if the deaths of thousands weren't enough, they had then been condemned by the Alliance. They should not have been surprised; it was not the first time the Alliance had deemed them unworthy.

However, it seemed fate was changing for them. The Naga had offered their aid, and now led them to their Master, Illidan Stormrage. The Betrayer, he was called, a name given to him by his brother Malfurion before he had locked Illidan up for ten thousand years.

The former High Elves might argue that Malfurion was the true betrayer. After all, it was Malfurion who destroyed the Well of Eternity, and then banished their people from their home land in his own self-righteousness. The Night Elves would watch the world burn before a single one of them ever admitted a mistake or showed an ounce of care for more than themselves.

But Illidan could hardly be called a Night Elf anymore. His hatred for the Burning Legion was resolute, and he cared little for the pious. He had made many mistakes – and each one his brother made him pay for dearly, finally banishing him to Outland despite Illidan's rescue of Tyrande, Malfurion's lover and mate and the woman Illidan was deeply in love with.

Illidan Stormrage would understand them, just as he understood the Naga. He knew pain, he knew hatred, and he knew what it meant to lose everything he ever loved. Tyrande's rejection of him in favor of her brother had damned his soul more than any demonic power ever could. Perhaps, in Illidan, they would finally find redemption.

**O**

The bleak, ruined landscape of Shadowmoon Valley gave no comfort to the ragged elves who crossed its terrain, carefully navigating around pools of toxic, vibrantly green acid. The accursed fluid seeped into the barren ground, poisoning it until even the most hardy of its denizens fled for new homes.

Paradise, they'd been promised. This was no paradise, but still they pressed on, putting their faith in their Prince. Kael'thas Sunstrider would lead them to safety. They had to trust in him when there was no one else. Hope and determination still glimmered in his eyes, despite all they'd been through.

One elf among the crowd sauntered along, occasionally pushing stringy strands of onyx hair from her eyes. She gazed at the barren landscape through detached, empty eyes, her shoulders sagging while she walked. They were all hungry and tired; her more so, her conscience preventing her from taking too much food or doing too little work when she was young and able, and there were those around her less fortunate.

It wasn't just a lack of food that was leaving her emotionless; a void still resided in her heart, a pit that had begun to form over the past several years. She had once laughed and cried, but those emotions were slowly crushed from her.

"_Emalia," her mother had growled one day while they stood in the tremendous halls of the Sun Spires, the stunning city of Quel'thalas glittering in the sun outside of the great archways that adorned the Spires' walls. "You are a Sunspear, a noble house of importance. You must stop this intolerable behavior before you bring dishonor to our name."_

_Emalia had merely stood in silence, her hair glowing faintly purple in the sunlight. Rather than studying diplomacy and learning how to be a proper lady, Emalia found herself climbing the massive towers and star-kissed buildings of their city and gazing for hours over the orange and green forests of Quel'Thalas, imagining a home long-lost, before the elves had been banished._

_She did not dream of power, nor the chance of marrying a prince, even the stunningly handsome Kael'thas Sunstrider. Inside, there was a buried desire to run away, enlist in the Horde army and fight for something, not to become the beloved pet wife of a noble._

Emalia, however, was never able to see that desire. Instead, she studied in the ways of the Light, practicing with a sword whenever she had time alone. If she couldn't be a soldier, then she'd at least become a Paladin.

In fact, Emalia was now very happy of the training she taught herself. In the desecrated land they walked, the Light felt very far away, and there was no telling what evils roamed nearby. The place had once been a thriving jungle, filled with rich grasses and the tinkling of water as it flowed through streams. Even the Night Elves would have stopped to admire its beauty, but the Burning Legion cared little for beauty. They had ripped it and the surrounding continents off of Draenor, suspended them in the Twisting Nether… Now the Blood Elves marched on, seeking a home where they had lost theirs.

Her mother had fought with her over her choice to follow Kael'thas. A portion of the elves chose to stay in the ruined Silvermoon City, her mother among them. Against all odds, Emalia snuck out with nothing but a sword and the clothes on her back, leaving the city at nightfall. She had never looked back, and now she was to seek her fortune with the Betrayer.


	2. Part 1

"Destroy the fel cannons! Do not let them get the upper hand! Incoming! _Incoming!"_

Emalia barely had time to heed the warning before a ball of fel fire smashed into the ground where she had been standing a moment earlier, searing the dead ground with its infected magic. Around her men shouted orders, people scattering in panic as the Burning Legion continued its merciless onslaught.

Pressing her back to an overturned table, Emalia reached for her weapon and gazed over the encampment. Demons streamed from the edges of camp, an endless wave of numerous creatures all hell-bent on destroying them.

As if sensing her fear, an imp popped out from the ruins of a tent, cackling as it summoned a fireball in its wretched little fingers. Emalia spared no moment in pushing herself to her feet and attacking the vile creature, hacking it in two.

Racing across the embattlement, Emalia ducked as the whip of a succubus snapped near her head before dashing past the teeth of a Felguard. Around her, Naga and Elf alike were struck down, their blood spraying across the barren ground.

She was aware of her sword striking against the Legionnaire's creatures and their accursed green blood dripping from her armor, but Emalia paid no heed. The world began to slow, swords freezing in midair as her mind tried to grasp the chaos that raged around them.

In front of her, one of Illidan's prized Demon Hunters fell to the grasp of a Pit Lord, his sightless blindfolded eyes turning to behold the monster before his demise. A Naga slithered beside the ruined body, thrusting the end of his trident into the side of the creature before a Blood Mage's spell careened with the back of the Pit Lord's head. They fault valiantly, but the Pit Lord was stronger, slinging its club at them with a vicious strength.

"Emalia!" A voice called her from somewhere in the raging battle. Immediately turning her head to the sound of the noise, she saw Aethan locked in combat with an Abyssal, barely rolling over before a fiery fist pounded into the ground where he'd been.

There was a glean of panic in his eyes as he began to realize how outmatched he was against the infernal monster. Of course, this was their first real battle while in Outland; four months of training, then Illidan had sent out scouting troops to gather resources.

Although Emalia had to admit that had she'd known this was the manner of things they'd face, she'd have stayed in Silvermoon with the rest of her people.

Jumping into action, Emalia swung at the rocky construct, her sword bashing helplessly against the enflamed stone. Realizing her weakness, she turned and seized Aethan by the collar of his leather armor, pulling him to his feet.

The two fled as a Mage filled their spots, pelting the Abyssal endlessly with shards of ice, his eyes glowing with hunger for the mana he consumed.

Once safely out of arm's reach, Emalia turned away from the Blood Elf, pressing back to back as demons encircled them. He drew his daggers and took a battle stance, preparing for the incoming onslaught.

Wave upon wave of demons flew toward the two elves. Aethan's daggers found themselves in the breast of an eredar, blood gurgling out of its mouth before it slumped to the ground. Two more creatures filled its place, meanwhile Emalia nearly lost a foot to a slobbering, angry Fel Reaver, the sharp spines of its teeth slicing through the leather and lodging themselves in her ankle. Furious, she slammed the tip of her sword into its head, splitting the skull with a sickening crack before the beast finally slackened and she was able to remove her injured foot from the Reaver's mouth.

When one fell, two more appeared, the demons as ruthless as the heads of a Hydra. The scene before them blurred. Emalia was aware of the heat of the man behind her, his presence her only comfort, as well as the sickening squelch as she pulled her sword from each beast, the steel stained bright green with their unearthly plasma.

Emalia suddenly felt a force on the end of her sword, turning to look as an enchanted whip wrapped itself around the blade and attempted to wrench it from her hands. Gritting her teeth, Emalia gripped it with both hands and fought back.

The succubus holding the whip appeared from the fray, releasing her whip. As the cord slackened, Emalia pulled it free and fought back an imp, keeping one eye focused on the devilish female who merely watched her battle.

"Not too bad for the servant of a _traitor,_" she hissed, licking her lips slowly. "If only I weren't going to kill you so quickly… We could have had some _fun_."

Emalia didn't particularly want to imagine what sort of fun she'd have at the mercy of a demon. However, she was surprised to hear the creature speak common, as most of the Burning Legion's armies preferred Demonic as their language of choice, based around the Eredar's language. More peculiar was her reference to Illidan; while the races of Azeroth called him the Betrayer, it was quite odd to hear a demon acknowledge him as a traitor. Most assumed Illidan was on the side of the Legion based on his actions at the Sundering, and again when he absorbed the Skull of Gul'dan.

"Oh yes, a _traitor_," the succubus purred, as though sensing the unasked question. "Illidan Stormrage has been very naughty indeed. Kil'jaeden is most displeased. Oh well, your lives will be forfeited now anyway. And we might have been such good _friends_."

Emalia flinched as she felt the demon's magic flowing over her skin and weakening her will. Unintentional heat flowed through her body, cheeks flushing. With all her might, Emalia fought back, pressing against the invisible walls in her mind, but the succubus seemed stronger. She watched as her palm opened, the hilt of her sword sliding through her fingers and hitting the ground with a dull thud. Arousal flooded her senses, the seduction magic growing stronger as the succubus neared.

A gentle hand stroked across her cheek, nails biting into her skin. Had Emalia been able to snarl at the creature, she would have, but instead she found herself transfixed and unable to move, even her emotions beginning to betray her.

Just as soon as she felt herself careening toward the edge of madness, giving into the power the creature held over her, the feelings were gone, ripped from her body as a pale hand jammed a bloodied dagger into the succubus's throat.

The demon would have screamed, but the only noise she emit was a sickening gurgle before her lifeless body fell to the ground and began to disintegrate, acid oozing from her decaying skin.

Emalia grinned at her savior, trying to remember to properly thank him later. "Always manage to come at the right time, don't you?"

"It is what I do, isn't it?" Aethan replied, using the back of his arm to wipe sweat from his forehead.

His words seemed to ring true; they had been childhood friends. Aethan aspired to become a rogue and Emalia had always dreamed of the warrior's life, however being the daughter of a noble prevented her from seeing that. If ever she had needed something, she could have always expected to see a leather-clad, young blonde elf climbing through her window in the middle of the night, offering whatever roguey services he could.

Emalia still remembered the day she asked him to assassinate someone for her. And he did, as he always promised he would.

It took Emalia a moment to realize they were not currently being attacked by demons; in fact, it seemed as though they were retreating – an odd occurrence to see from the Burning Legion.

"We need to return to the Black Temple. Demons don't retreat, and I don't care to stick around here long enough to find out why." Aethan scowled, glancing around the ruined encampment. "Help me round everyone up who is still alive, and we'll leave."

Emalia glanced around. Less than half of their scouting expedition remained, bodies scattered among the decaying demons. The captain of their patrol was nowhere in sight, most likely to be found among the dead. With a remorseful sigh, Emalia got to work.

**O**

The air of Shadowmoon Valley was brisk, despite having no wind – behind him, Illidan Stormrage could hear Kael'thas pulling his robes tighter around his body, attempting to keep his teeth from chattering. The cold did not bother him, but he supposed it was quite chilly for an Elf who was used to the warm, summer days of Quel'Thalas.

"What news have you brought me?" Illidan's voice was rough, as usual. Niceties and bedside manners were not in his personality; he denied anything that might show a hint of vulnerability. Deep inside he was too conflicted, too tormented to allow his emotions to swell to the surface.

"Less than half of the scouting trip you sent out toward Terrokar Forest has returned. They were swarmed by the Legion. Many lives were lost." There was a hint of sympathy in Kael'thas Sunstrider's voice, but even over time the tides of war had hardened him. Each day Illidan continuously observed apathy growing within him. They had work to do, and there was little that could be done for the dead.

"It would seem Kil'jaedan is exacting his revenge for your failure," the Blood Prince observed sourly. "He has not forgotten your failure in Icecrown."

Illidan tensed, a deep growl emanating from his throat. "I am well aware of Kil'jaeden's intentions. The scouting party was just a sample of the bloodshed that will occur at the hands of the Burning Legion." He turned and gazed at Kael'thas through the blindfold on his face, his second sight picking up the distinct arcane magic that emanated off of the Prince. "Mark my words, an offensive is coming. We must be prepared to fight the Legion. All of our forces must be ready."

It was not so long ago that Illidan failed at Icecrown, bleeding out on the frozen ground while he helplessly watched Arthas Menethil merge into the Lich King, thus failing Kil'jaeden's order to stop Arthas. Now the Menethil brat was spreading his plague across the whole of Azeroth, contaminating everything he came into contact with and turning all living creatures into the vile undead.

He had never intended to serve the Legion, but it was him who had been betrayed. All of his efforts to help his brother, and his sacrifices were never appreciated. Without him, they would all be dead. Now it was likely he would be dead, in time. Sargeras would claim his soul for his demonic kingdom, and Illidan would be lost forever.

While Illidan believed strongly in fighting fire with fire, the darkness seemed to be caving in around them. He needed a miracle, some sort of light in the face of overwhelming failure.


	3. Part 2

Business continued as usual back at the Black Temple. Emalia leaned against a grey stone column, a book in one hand and her sword at her side. The world she was in was very far from the Light, but that hadn't stopped Emalia from smuggling _The Origins of the Light_ in her bag when Kael'thas led the elves from Azeroth.

The Light did not come easily to her, as she was never formally inducted into the Church of the Light. Still, she felt it dance on the tips of her fingers, the call mocking her from within. She could _feel_ it, like a reservoir of untouched power. Instead, she found she could only heal minor injuries before the Light escaped, and she was left feeling frustrated and abandoned.

Perhaps she was cursed; after all, it seemed everything in Emalia's life was always working against her. Even her best made plans seemed to go wrong, and she couldn't imagine why fate hated her so.

Heaving a deep sigh, she slammed the book closed. Her body still ached from the battle they'd lost, worsened by her persistent training.

Here, in this wasteland, Emalia could train her fighting skills sun-up until sundown without rest. There was no one to lecture her on her lack of ladylike habits or to discourage her strength. The only regret Emalia felt was for the lack of paladins. In fact, Emalia sensed that she may have been the _only_ Light-wielding creature in the Black Temple. The others had long since abandoned Illidan Stormrage, instead fleeing to Shattrath to hide with the draenei – that is, if they weren't caught and killed.

Yet Emalia stayed. She could not put her finger on it, but something told her that the situation was beyond her knowledge. After all, if Illidan _truly_ served the Legion then why were the demons still attacking?

Attacking her battleworn sword to her belt, Emalia hopped down from her sitting spot and wandered the halls of the Temple, absentmindedly running the tips of her fingers over the ashen walls. Her mind wandered, returning again to think of the Demonic creature she served. Perhaps she'd have been more bothered by it had she actually been properly trained, but instead she felt a slight twinge of something unfamiliar…pity, maybe? She did not think she pitied Lord Illidan, but something was certainly different.

It wasn't until a woman's heat-filled moan rang in her ears that Emalia realized where her feet had taken her. The concubines languidly laid around, giving the embarrassed blood elf seductive and impressed glances. What they didn't realize, however, was that Emalia's embarrassment came not from having strolled into the Den of Mortal Delights, but rather that beyond the Den was Illidan's personal chambers.

Feeling quite foolish that her feet had taken her so far, Emalia rushed from the scene, quickly pushing the demon Master from her mind. She had more important business to attend to, like polishing her armor or trying to produce more than a thin stream of healing magic, as opposed to questioning her own morality. She did not – no, _could not_ start questioning motives now. Her life was at risk just as much as every other person enlisted in this army, and she knew that having doubts now would certainly kill her in the end.

Emalia was so entirely distracted with her own thoughts that she did not notice the brilliant, vibrant orange and red mage robes until she pummeled into the back of the poor elf before finding herself squarely on her bottom, mind trying to grasp what had happened.

It wasn't until the mage had begun to turn around at the disturbance that Emalia noticed the green floating Verdant Spheres, the iconic _Verdant Spheres…_

Dread seized her, and Kael'thas Sunstrider whipped around to face the pitiful creature that would soon taste his wrath.

"How dare you!" He hissed, the Blood Prince narrowing fel-colored eyes. In one sweep, two guards seized her arms and lifted her from the ground. A sharp pain sprouted in her face before Emalia realized he had slapped her, the print no doubt starting to materialize on her face already. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Typically, Emalia would have apologized, but she suddenly found distaste in her mouth. It was an aspect she always disliked about nobles – the constant belief that everyone else owed them respect, even if they did nothing to earn it. Perhaps it was why Emalia had done what she had done. Maybe she wanted to earn respect rather than be given it.

Unfortunately, she discovered she wasn't really quite in the mood to give or expect respect, so instead she glared intensely at the Prince before her. "I would have apologized, but I'm not really in the habit of apologizing to pompous asses."

That was how she found herself locked in the prisoner's cells.

**O**

Illidan poured over the battle plans in his room, wings tucked delicately behind his back. The Burning Legion was gaining an advantage, killing off some of Illidan's best generals and Demon Hunters. It would not be long before Sargeras attempted to press his advantage on Black Temple itself.

With a deep growl, Illidan pushed off from the table, fury radiating off of his form. It simply wasn't fair; every attempt Illidan made trying to be a savior was only met with hostility. Why was it that Elune had cursed him? Why had nothing gone right? Had Illidan done better, perhaps there would be the Alliance on his side to fight off the darkness, to help him defeat Sargeras, but instead he was left to be swallowed whole by the Legion.

Would his brother cry? Probably not. It was no secret that Malfurion despised him and everything he'd become. Even still, Illidan found that he could not hate him. His brother was just as dear as the lovely Tyrande.

_Oh Tyrande…_

The mere thought of her made his heart ache, a deep emptiness welling up inside of him. He tried to suppress it, push it back to the blackened heart where it came from, but the memory resisted. How long had he imagined himself running his fingers over the tips of her pointed ears, whispering gentle words into her neck? Instead she had chosen his brother, and Illidan had damned himself trying to gain her attention. Now Tyrande shunned him, saw him as a monstrous creature, hideous and deformed.

He gazed down at his own hands. Although his eyes had long since been scratched out of their sockets and the cursed sight put in its place, Illidan could still see, despite being rumored to have been blind. His sight increased the details he took in. He saw every tear in the skin on his palms, the calluses from years of fighting, broken and scratched claws. His arms were scarred and the arcane fel tattoos glimmered in the dim light, radiating their sickly magic. He was hyperaware of his large hooves, a result of the demonic magic absorbed from the Skull of Gul'dan. It had truly cursed him, transforming the once-handsome body into a twisted contraption.

Tyrande hadn't even been able to set eyes on him that day, the day he'd changed. Her look had haunted him.

_How could anyone ever care for someone so wretched?_

With a deep sigh of frustration and regret, Illidan knocked his battleplans to the floor, the parchment scattering over the stone before collapsing in his chair, head resting in his hands. He may have stayed there indefinitely had a knock not come at his door, shortly before being thrown open by the Blood Prince.

"You're late," Illidan scolded, scowling up from his seated position. Had he not been a master of suppressing emotions, he may have grinned. The usually prim and proper Kael'thas Sunstrider looked ruffled, little strands of blonde hair actually pulled out of place. To anyone else, the Prince would have looked perfect, but Illidan was familiar enough with the elf to recognize each imperfection that Kael'thas attempted to stomp out. Today was not a good day, clearly.

"Yes, well I would have been here on time had I not been barreled down by some peon fool,"  
>he spat. "In fact, she was so audacious that after she had clumsily tumbled into me, she had the <em>nerve<em> to call _ME_ a pompous ass!"

What nerve indeed. Illidan did however not miss that the one in question was in fact female. As he watched Kael'thas stride over to a chair to take a seat, Illidan's mind was quickly drawn back to Tyrande. When they were younger, he remembered her being filled with that same fiery temper. Once a boy had teased her relentlessly, and Tyrande was never one to take something sitting down. It had required both Stormrage twins to pull her off the poor fool before she turned his face into a right bloody mess with her fists. And Tyrande was always the first one to tell Illidan if he had done something stupid.

Sighing, Illidan returned to the present, and quickly scooped the battle plans off the floor before depositing them on the table.

"With the sudden loss of our best war generals and demon hunters, training on our current soldiers must be hastened," Illidan began, gazing at Kael'thas expectantly. The Blood Prince did not get a vacation while in Outland; rather, he worked with Illidan to ensure the success of their attacks. His most recent assignment had been to scout out those soldiers who looked promising, especially from those who joined the war effort after the failed attack on Icecrown. "Tell me what you found, Kael'thas."

Kael'thas's eyes always widened just a bit whenever Illidan spoke his name. He was certainly not the type of elf to fall over himself for someone, but Illidan was no fool – even the very slight and small reactions he gave were enough to confirm what Illidan had suspected all along.

Without a further word, Kael'thas removed the scroll from his robes and spread open the parchment, gazing over the list of names.

The first on the list was a Naga by the name of Farendal – an awfully Highborne name, Illidan thought. When Queen Azshara and her followers had been cursed, Illidan learned that most abandoned their names and their heritage. Many of the Naga had no recollection of what even occurred all those thousands of years ago, something that pained Illidan deeply. They had once been people, wise and intelligent, but in their servitude to their Queen they gave up _everything_.

Illidan was shocked as Kael'thas described the particular condition of this Naga. Unlike his brothers and sisters, some of his Highborne blood remained. Instead of the serpents body, he had webbed fingers and toes, attacked to scaled arms and legs. He was not the only of his kind, there were others enlisted in Illidan's army that were not as Naga as the rest.

_What a fascinating turn of fate_, Illidan mused as Kael'thas read off several more names, elf and naga alike. They all seemed rather uninteresting; their only accomplishment being particularly skilled in this or that. Illidan would likely begin training for most of them immediately and send them on new patrols.

"_Aethan_," Kael'thas continued, "A promising rogue and assassin. There are rumors he once murdered a noble for the affection of a young woman. _Ah_, love," Kael'thas sighed, as though he knew what it meant to truly love someone. "Even still, my sources have told me that when this one isn't being cornered by demons, he had a vicious blade."

"Hmm," Illidan grunted. A rogue was useful, especially one who already had hands bathed in cold blood. And for the love of a woman, no less. Illidan was no stranger to love, after all. He would have killed for Tyrande at the drop of a pin, and still probably would. It worried Illidan how soft Malfurion was. How could he truly keep her safe when he spent his years sleeping away in the Emerald Dream?

"Oh, you might _like_ this," Kael'thas hissed, a clever smile peeling across his face. "It would seem we have a paladin among our ranks. I thought all had run away by now, but apparently this one is inexperienced enough to lack the prejudices that follow with Light-bearers."

Illidan raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly. "Inexperienced? How does _that _do me any good?" The powerful paladins came from the Church of the Light, and any paladin worth his weight in gold would attack Illidan instead of supporting him.

A clever little smile played on Kael'thas's lips. "Now here's where it gets good. Apparently this paladin has enough spirit and drive to power an entire army, or so I hear. Trains all day, dawn to dusk, and is a pretty competent fighter, or so I hear."

This was getting odder by the minute, Illidan felt. A good warrior who just happened to bear a little bit of the Light? The Light was usually only granted to those inducted into its ranks, but Kael'thas assured him that the paladin in question had not.

In fact, Illidan was even more shocked to hear that the paladin was a woman of noble birth, and that she had abandoned her titles in pursuit of battle. Apparently it was quite common knowledge among the elves who she was, as Emalia of House Sunspear had been quite the pain in the backs of any who tried to suppress the wild spirited creature.

Without further comment, Illidan turned his back to the Blood Prince. "Bring her to me, immediately."

Kael'thas turned to his guards, waving them off to go fetch the Lady… just to be surprised when his men stood in confusion, neither sure what to tell their beloved Prince. Both glanced at each other, then back to the Prince, and then immediately staring at the ground in embarrassment.

"Why are you still standing here? Did you not hear Lord Illidan?" Kael'thas did not take insubordination lightly, and he had already been quite annoyed before he entered Illidan's chambers.

"Well, yes, my Prince…" One began, his voice faltering. How could he explain this in a way that would not further infuriate Prince Sunstrider? "Ah, you see… the Lady Emalia you seek you had thrown into the prisoner's cells not more than two hours."

Illidan had turned around by this point, surveying the situation before him with great interest. The two blood elf guards, quaking in their boots before the unbridled fury of Kael'thas Sunstrider…and the man himself frozen with a look of utter bewilderment, followed by rage.

It would seem, Illidan mused, that the very woman who dared called the most powerful Mage alive a pompous ass was the very woman he desired to spend his time with.

**O**

Emalia had been in the dank cell for what seemed like an eternity. She knew not much time had really gone by, but there was no shortage of glares from the other prisoners. Various members of the Horde and Alliance sat in rags, scowling at anyone who would dare wear a tabard of the Illidari. She wanted to tell them that they were wrong, that the Illidari were not bad – they were demon slayers – but didn't bother, since she knew it was a pointless endeavor.

Sometimes a Naga would walk by and shove his trident through the bars of her prison, prodding her and emitting a hoarse, scratchy noise that Emalia guessed might have been a laugh.

In fact, it would seem her luck was turning for the worse, as it seemed the slimy bastard was wandering her way again, his slit eyes narrowing as he neared.

"Oh, look at the little landssssstrider," the creature hissed, smiling through rows of sharp teeth. "All alone and locked up beneath the Temple. I ssssuppossseee that'sss what happensss to thossse who don't know their placcce."

With a wicked grin, the creature jammed his weapon into her cage, the sharp tip colliding with her leg and leaving a long slice in its wake, blood quickly welling up in the wound.

Emalia had enough, her temper getting the better of her. In one swift action, she seized the weapon, pulling on it so roughly that the Naga's face was smashed into the bars before he had a chance to release his grip.

"How dare you!" Emalia heard for not the first time that day. The serpent snapped at her, attacking the cage with his might at the sight of his own weapon in the hands of a prisoner. Emalia spun the trident around before thrusting through the bars of the cage, impaling the Naga in the arm.

The creature released a deafening screech before reaching through the bars and seizing Emalia by the hair, pulling her so roughly that her own face collided with the metal, pain searing through her face as she heard the distinct crunch of her nose breaking.

With both hands, Emalia clawed at the creature's scales, nails digging into tender flesh. She was distinctly aware of the blood seeping down her face and gathering beneath her fingernails as she left deep scratches.

Howling in fury, the Naga snatched her arm before burying a set of razor-sharp teeth into her flesh. Unable to control the noise that left her lips, Emalia screamed, arms beginning to shake as fear and anger overcame her.

One fist pulled back before smashing into the Naga's face, the serpentine finally releasing her arm in shock. His hands came to her face, and Emalia felt sharp claws digging into her own skin as she grappled with him, attempting to pry herself from his grasp before any long-term damage occurred.

Fate may have saved her this time, as in that moment Kael'thas and his guards burst in before stopping in shock at the scene before them.

At the Blood Prince's orders, the Naga was pulled from her grasp, his arms bound as he hissed at her. Emalia merely gazed back, uncaring of the blood that dripped from her face and arms. What was more concerning for her was Kael'thas's presence.

He approached her, scrutinizing her with the face one would have when gazing on something unpleasant. He was silent for a minute, eyes drifting over her injures, before motioning for his guards to near.

"As much as I would desire to see you bleed out in here, the Master desires your presence immediately." Kael'thas sniffed; his pride still clearly wounded from her words. Then again, Emalia was sure that one such as Kael'thas Sunstrider was used to a fair amount of ass kissing. The guards strode forward, opening the cell door.

Emalia _should_ have questioned why Illidan wanted to see her, but instead another reproachful reply escaped from her lips. "So the great and mighty Prince of Quel'thalas can't even handle a simple insult? How did you survive after all this time?"

Perhaps it was the sarcasm dripping from her voice that did it, but whatever Kael'thas was feeling on the inside broke out in a grand display of fury. In one swift action, he strode forward and seized her hair, pulling it so hard the little elf cried out in pain.

"Do you think it is funny to mock me? Do you think that I do not have some say over your fate here?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the threat in it was crystal clear. Emalia found herself pulled so close that her nose was almost touching his, the fire burning beneath his pale green eyes roaring. "Mark my words, if you do not learn some respect, I will ensure that you are _broken_. Then will you learn your place, paladin."

Still holding her by the hair, Kael'thas marched back up through the Temple, pulling her along like some bad dog. It was completely humiliating, and the blood dripping from her body certainly didn't help her case. Around them, Naga and elf alike turned around to witness the march. They even passed Aethan at some point, who looked saddened until he realized exactly _who_ it was being towed along by Kael'thas. Then his face contorted in horror and shock, as well as embarrassment for his friend.

At last they made it to the Den of Mortal Delights, and even the concubines and succubas stopped to see what the commotion was about. Some of the girls giggled at the scene, and others swooned at Kael'thas as he passed, despite his obvious display of cruelty.

It seemed like forever before they finally made it past the many rooms and through the long balcony, before coming upon Illidan's private chambers. Emalia felt fear now, real fear, as the realization dawned on her that _yes, this was actually happening_.

Out of some pitiful display of resistance, Emalia dug her heels into the ground, fighting against the pull of the Blood Prince, but the guards only kicked her knees out from under her and she was torn to her feet by the sudden tearing on her hair. Realizing that resisting was impossible, Emalia consigned to her fate.

Throwing open the doors, Kael'thas dragged her inside, throwing her with force into the center of the room. "Take her! If I have to set my eyes on this disgusting wretch again, I'll likely kill her." With a deep snarl, Kael'thas stormed out, slamming the doors in his wake.

Emalia almost fell over, feeling a tad weak from her skirmish and the loss of blood. Her eyes focused on the ground as she caught her balance, seeing only the hooves of the demon that stood before her. With great effort, she finally pulled her eyes up, biting back the dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

What she had not been expecting was the incredibly amused smirk on the face of Illidan Stormrage.


End file.
